


Talk Me Down

by conwalshs



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:26:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conwalshs/pseuds/conwalshs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Connor's in shambles, the only person who can pull him off the ledge is Oliver -- even when they're apart. Perhaps especially then.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Me Down

“I need to go,” Connor murmurs to himself, rubbing his hands together in a futile attempt to push the chill out of his body. In truth, he can’t discern what’s nerves and what’s the nippy air outside the car. It doesn’t even matter. His limbs are trembling and it’s making him feel sick to his stomach. It doesn’t help matters that the heat in his car hasn’t worked for two weeks now.

It’s all said and done. The body is disposed and the only thing remaining is the scent of burnt fabric and blood coating his clothes. The upholstery of his car. 

His hands and his face.

The aftertaste of it all lingering in his mouth.

There’s too much dried blood on him and feeling it crack every time his mouth moves is driving him insane.

It almost felt like a heist; like a bank robbery and he was the getaway driver. In comparison to the crime they’d committed and were continuing to pile onto, it seemed like child’s play. He would much rather be holding up a poor bank teller instead of where he currently found himself.

Robbery was a far more forgivable crime than murder

Connor’s hands are stuck on the steering wheel, but the vehicle isn’t going anywhere. The longer he stays in the area, the more he puts himself at risk for being associated with the crime. 

He’d always heard about out-of-body experiences. How people could feel like they were viewing themselves from an objective point of view, overseeing their life with a birds eye view. It sounded far-fetched and dramatic; the stuff of fiction and soap operas. He never expected himself to have that kind of disoriented experience.

It felt like the part of him that had existed prior to tonight was looking over him, separate from the version that existed now. There was something lost in those woods, something he’d left behind when he carried Sam’s body out in a rolled up carpet. Or maybe it was when he chopped his body up into sizable enough pieces to adequately burn. Perhaps a mix of both.

Sam’s life certainly wasn’t the only thing sacrificed tonight.

Just when he’s considering taking a ride to the nearest convenience store and picking up several cases of beer, his phone rings. The shrill of it makes him jolt in his seat, his heart beating out of control for the umpteenth time tonight. Anxiety is a constant state for him at present.

The name displayed on his screen shakes him up even more.

He hasn’t heard from Oliver in weeks, despite his many urges to reach out to him. But having him call, especially at this time seems too strange. The only plausible explanation Connor can surmise is that it’s an accidental call, but that doesn’t stop him from picking up.

“Hello?” he answers tentatively, anxious to hear Oliver on the other end. To find out whether it was an accidental call or if he’d done it knowingly.

“Connor? Hi, uh,” Oliver hesitates, and Connor can almost see him rubbing his temple with his fingers when he does. It’s one of his many quirks that he’s noticed since meeting him. He hates that he knows these things. 

Connor clears his throat and tries to push away the audible stress in his voice. “So, what’s up?” he asks, too casually. 

It takes a moment for Oliver to respond. “Just…had a weird feeling.”

“About?”

“You.” 

Unsure what to make of this, Connor sinks a bit lower into his seat and stays quiet. It doesn’t make any sense why Oliver would have the inclination to call him, especially after their rocky separation – if it could even be called that. 

“It was just one of those weird gut feelings, you know?” Oliver murmurs, sounding flustered on the other end. “Probably dumb. Dumb of me to think it was really something to acknowledge, and dumb of me to call you. Just not a good idea.” he goes on, making Connor’s stomach drop even further down into his stomach than it’s been all night.

Oliver doesn’t give him a chance to think of a reply before he’s talking again. “I’ll just, you know, leave you to whatever you were doing and hang up.”

“No, wait-” Connor interrupts, finally able to spit something out.

There’s silence on the other end. He almost thinks Oliver already hung up. This feels like something he needs to maintain whatever semblance of sanity he has left. Like a lifeline that he’ll fall apart without. 

But hasn’t Oliver been that for him this entire time?

“Can you stay on here with me, please?” he requests quietly, anticipating a negative response. “Your voice is just, I kind of need it right now.”

He can hear Oliver breathing softly on the other line, letting him know he hasn’t hung up. But there’s still time for him to.

“Sure, yeah. Okay.” Connor hears him reply cautiously.

The bubble of anxiety that had built up in Connor’s chest all day starts to deflate. “Can you tell me about your day maybe?”

“It wasn’t anything noteworthy.” Oliver answers. His tone isn’t frigid, but it isn’t all that warm either. Connor wishes he hadn’t ruined Oliver’s comfort with him. He’s paying for it now more than ever. Perhaps this entire night wouldn’t have ever transpired had he not slept with Pax. 

There was no way of knowing since his decisions had already created irreparable consequences.

“How was work? Did you do anything interesting? Or after work?”

“Connor,” Oliver breathes, sounding a little exasperated. “Is there a reason we should even be talking right now? A weird feeling on my part wasn’t much of a reason to call, I shouldn’t have done it.”

Gnawing down on his lip, Connor searches for his words even though they don’t want to come out. Nothing sincere ever does.

“N-No, you were right. I’m not…doing well. Like, at all.” he laughs, breathless and devoid of humor. Saying this aloud feels like a desperate plea for help.

I’m ruined and I’ve ruined things and this is me desperately trying to repair them.

He continues, his voice growing more and more unsteady. “I feel like I’m not okay lately.”

“Okay in what way?”

Laughing again, Connor shrugs. “Every way.”

Oliver sighs and Connor imagines him sitting down in his comfy armchair, resting his head down against the cushion there. “Be more specific, Connor.”

He rakes his hands through his hair–his dirty, gritty hair–and swallows down the constant desire to start crying. “I’m making so many mistakes. And not just with you, but that was one of the biggest ones.” he adds quietly, pausing before he speaks again. “I’ve become this shitty person and I’m so tired, Oliver. I’m so tired.”

At this point, he is crying and the fact that he’s sniffling so uncontrollably is making him embarrassed. Oliver called at the worst possible time, catching Connor at his most vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, rubbing his eyes harshly with his free hand. “I’m not drunk or anything, I swear. I wish I was, god.” he chuckles, and Oliver chuckles a little, too. Not in a mean-spirited way. Almost like a trace of the camaraderie they’d once had.

“Everything is just so fucked and I wish I could blame it on someone else. I’ve done these things and I’m- a monster.” Connor forces out, the word tasting sour and painfully true on his tongue.

“Connor, you’re not.” Oliver counters, but he has no idea what he’s talking about.

“I am. Maybe I wasn’t before but now- yes. I am.” he insists. “And whatever feeling you had about me is eerie as all hell since I’m not okay tonight. I’m really not.” 

Lifting the collar of his jacket up to his cheeks, Connor wipes off the tears there, flecks of dirt coming off along with them. He can’t even remember the last time he cried like this. Not crying was something he used to pride himself on. As if his distant stoicism somehow made him better than everyone else. It only made him more likely to fall apart one day.

There’s a beat of silence between them, except for Connor’s feeble attempts to get himself in gear. 

“Come here.” Oliver finally says.

“You don’t have to offer that-”

“Connor.” Oliver retorts sternly, his voice softening a few seconds later. “Come here.” 

Oliver’s apartment is the only place Connor feels like he can drive coherently to, knowing his destination will be a safe haven. The only place he’s felt secure in years, when he really thinks about it.

When they hang up, he sorts himself out and turns the engine on again. The sound of Oliver saying “come here” is the only thing that keeps him from swerving off the road.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! it's been really great to be writing coliver fics again. as always, let me know what you think since comments encourage me to keep writing new fics/update current ones. you're all so kind with feedback and i really, really appreciate it.


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